A Tale of Two Hanks
by GalaxieGurl
Summary: A morning before Christmas at the Booth household.


A Tale of Two Hanks

 _A/N: First off, thank you to all those reviewers who have no profile where I can thank them personally for encouraging my writings with their kind comments and appreciation. Secondly, I realize fully that the following story ventures into Jacob Marley-unlikely territory, but I LOVE Pops' character, and despite the extremely impossible, out of sync timing of this fic, I'm writing it anyway because I wish it could have happened, and we could've seen it on the actual series! I'm still miffed they haven't mentioned Pops at all since Ralph Waite passed away._

Hank Booth awakened with the ease of the very young. His bright little eyes popped open, and he sat up in the toddler bed of which he was so very proud. His big boy bed. Just like Christine's as far as he could tell. Though hers didn't have the side rails next to his pillow. He hopped out of bed and peered out of his bedroom door, trailing his favorite Dick Tracy blanket behind him.

Booth had been delighted with this particular pre-natal shower gift for their son. Despite being the guest of honor at their couple's baby shower, Brennan had presented Booth with this gift herself, for she knew how much it would please him. When she spotted it online, she had ordered three immediately.

Knowing that the dim silence of the hallway meant his family was all asleep, Hank tiptoed carefully to the head of the stairs, then descended one step at a time, avoiding the creaky spots. Christine had demonstrated this skill for him the last time they'd played cops and robbers with her plastic FBI badge and his toy tommy gun.

Having successfully navigated the stairway without any noise, Hank tiptoed over to the large circular covered rattan basket which served as a toy box in the family room. One of his daily chores was to keep his playthings off the floor and tidy, which pleased his mom. He was very proud of having a real job to help his family.

He cautiously removed the woven lid from the cylindrical basket, and reached inside. Hunting around until he found what he was seeking, Hank carefully removed the object he had concealed inside a dinner napkin. It was a messily-wrapped gift exactly the size of a margarine tub. Because that's what it had been before its transformation.

Under the patient direction of their teacher, Hank and all his pre-school classmates had painstakingly glued various macaroni pieces to the lid and sides of their little tubs. The puddle of white glue on each lid would have been sufficient to handle all their art projects for a week.

Their teacher had painted the side of each tub with an especially sticky glue so that their macaroni would adhere permanently to the surface. She had cautioned the children to place their macaroni carefully, since once stuck on, the pieces would be in that spot for good. Then the kids had painted their dried creations with gold or silver paint.

The results, in their pleased little minds, were nothing short of a Michaelangelo masterpiece.

Hank tiptoed over to the Christmas tree which rose in front of the wide window beside their fireplace, and crouched to reach under its branches. He tripped on the edge of his mother's Christmas tree skirt, which Auntie Angela had made for her last year. Sprawling on his tummy, he gasped in horror, worried that he'd be discovered before his gift was concealed among the pile under the tree.

Sure enough, Hank heard a deep-throated chuckle behind him. Rolling over in dismay, he saw his great-grandfather standing there, leaning on his cane.

"Hey, kiddo, whatcha' up to under there?" Pops inquired gently.

"Great GranPops! You weren't sposed to hear me, I'm hidin' my gift for Mommy and Daddy. It's sposed to be a surprise," his small namesake moaned in disappointment.

Hank, Sr. chuckled again. "I won't tell if you don't," he assured the brown-haired little boy. "Go ahead and shove your package way back in there, and then let's read a story."

Little Hank grinned at that suggestion, secreted his gift under two long flat packages, and slid out from under the tree, evergreen needles stuck in his curls. He grabbed the large hand his great-grandfather offered, hopped to his feet, and the pair walked to the large recliner nearby. Pops settled himself in the comfortable leather chair, then Hank scrambled up into his lap. "Read me the Polar Express, please, GranPops," he requested.

Big Hank took the well-thumbed book from the side table, and opened it with a smile. "I used to read this to your daddy and Uncle Jared a long time ago," he told his eager audience of one.

Standing in the doorway, Booth savored the sight of his favorite old man and preschooler cuddled together for a few minutes before making his presence known. "You guys are up awfully early. What's the occasion?"

"G'morning, Shrimp, I don't get near enough chances to read to Peanut here, so let us be!"

"Hi, Daddy!" chirped Hank. "Why're you up early?"

"Couldn't sleep for all the rustling going on down here; I thought some wild squirrels had gotten in through the chimney!" Booth told his son. "Had to come check out the noise; I heard some thumps and bumps, too! But now I know it's you guys, how 'bout I make us some cocoa?"

"Shrimp, I'll take coffee instead, please," Hank replied. "That blend Temperance buys is way better than what they brew at Willow River."

"Yea, I'm for coffee first thing in the morning, too, Pops," Booth agreed. "You want some orange juice instead, Bub?" he asked his son.

"Sure, Daddy, whatever. Can Pops read my story now please?" Little Hank asked politely.

Oooooooooooooooooo

An hour later, the three Booth men had polished off French toast and three Christmas stories. "Hank, go see if your mom is awake yet," Booth told his son. The child scampered out of the kitchen and up the stairs, heedless of the noise he caused on this trip.

Pops looked at Booth. "Shrimp, I love Christine to death, but that little boy is extra special to me. You have no idea how blessed I feel to have lived long enough to see you and Temperance with children of your own. It means the world to me. I wish Margaret could be here, that little guy reminds me so much of you when you were small. If only your dad…." his voice trailed off. "He'd have been just as proud of you both as I am, in spite of his many faults, he did love you, in his misguided way."

Booth had long since made peace with his father's memory and misdeeds. He wouldn't have burdened his beloved grandfather with any complaints about the past anyway. As Max said, the past was the past.

He gazed fondly at the man who had saved him years ago. "Without you, none of this would be possible, Pops," he said quietly. "I owe you everything. I don't think you can know how grateful I am for all you did to rescue Jared and me. I know it wasn't easy handling two rowdy boys at your age."

"Hey, Shrimp, I'm not helpless, and I sure wasn't back then!" Hank protested. "And I love you too!"


End file.
